By the Lion Led
by Random1
Summary: Edmund's adventures in Narnia and meeting with Prince Caspian have far reaching consequences. Very gentle slash.
1. Default Chapter

Rating: PG for slashyness  
  
Diclaimer: Narnia and all characters belong to CS Lewis. I'm just borrowing them. I've also   
borrowed on or two lines of dialogue to tie this in to the frame of Prince Caspian.  
No disrespect is meant by this. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  
  
A/N: This will become slashy. Very, very gently slashy, but it will focus on m/m romantic   
relationships.   
  
I wrote this in response to a request from my very dear friend AngelHair, and it's dedicated   
to her.  
  
Chapter One from Caspian's point of view  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The High King is not anything like how I imagined him. He's younger than I expected, for   
one thing – they've tried to explain that to me, and it seems to be something to do with   
the magic in the land that they come from, but I still can't help but find it strange.   
When I first met him, I might almost have said that he wasn't as noble as a High King ought   
to be, but I would have been wrong. He is as gallant and honourable a knight as any man   
might hope to meet. He proved that in his dealings with Trufflehunter and Trumpkin, and   
most of all during his combat with Miraz. He has a boy's face – although he is a little   
older than me – but is as strong and brave and gentlemanly as ever a king was. I found   
myself reminded that it is best not to judge a man on your first impressions, because   
looks can be deceiving.  
  
The other king, King Edmund – I find that I do not know how to think about him. He was   
always my favourite one out of the legends, because he was not a goody-two-shoes. He made   
mistakes, and he got into real trouble, and then afterwards, he was man enough to admit   
that he had done wrong, and he was forgiven, and then he tried so hard to make up for   
everything, and I always admired him for that. I'd never have thought of modelling myself   
on the High King, if I ever gained the throne of Narnia – he always seemed too far above   
me for that, and I always knew I would do wrong and make my fair share of mistakes. But   
Edmund – I used to hope and dream that one day I would be a king such as Edmund.  
  
I always thought that he must have been very special, for them to forgive him the way they   
did, after all the bad things he did. And Aslan must have cared for him a great deal, to   
have died for him. Cornelius always used to say that that part was just a metaphor, and   
really, in a way, Aslan died for all of us, and it's something to do with an ancient and   
powerful magic from before the dawn of time. But I never really understood that part. It   
was for Edmund's sake that Aslan went to the stone table, and allowed himself to be tied   
up, and shorn, and pierced to the very heart by the wicked stone knife of the evil witch   
queen.   
  
Aslan must have loved Edmund very much indeed.  
  
And now he is here, straight out of the legend, this king whom I have always admired. He   
is only a boy, a bit younger than myself, if truth be told, but there is something ancient   
and wise in his eyes. You can tell that he has seen many battles, and many adventures, and   
many great and splendid things. He can be very grave and solemn, but sometimes, when I least  
expect it, his eyes start to dance with laughter and merriment and sometimes even a little   
bit of mischievousness. He kept smiling at me. The High King was rushing about trying to   
organise things, and his head was full of thoughts of Miraz, and Aslan, and battles, and   
thrones, and dryads, and dwarves, and challenges, and masters of ceremony, and high   
politics, and all sorts of other grand and important things. He reassured me that he had   
not come to take my throne, but only to set me in it… but and half the time he didn't even   
seem to remember I was there.   
  
Edmund did, though. He kept smiling at me. I think he felt kind of sorry for me.  
  
It was him that fixed the bandage on my arm, where the wolf had bitten me. I was trying to   
be brave – trying even harder, in front of these kings straight out of legend – but it was   
the first time I had ever been wounded, and it did ache so. I gritted my teeth, and managed  
not to blub, or faint, or do any of the other pathetic things I felt rather like doing at   
that moment. Edmund was really nice about it.   
  
'It's a shame my sister Lu isn't here,' he said. 'She's got a cordial that'd make your arm   
feel right as rain in just a moment. It's the same one as out of the stories, you know.' He  
grinned at me. 'Lucy's a good little nurse,' he said.  
  
'I'm sure she is, Highness,' I said shyly, more than a little tongue-tied.  
  
'I, on the other hand, don't seem to be much good at all at this doctoring business at   
all,' he added with a laugh. 'I'm afraid I'm making a right pig's ear of this. I'm terribly  
sorry.'   
  
'Oh no, Highness! You're doing a splendid job, thanks,' I murmured.  
  
'See here, Caspian! You don't have to keep calling me Highness all the time. Edmund will do  
just fine.'  
  
'Yes, Highness,' I answered without thinking, and then bit my tongue. He laughed, and   
clapped a hand down on my shoulder, and then went back to concentrating on my arm.   
  
He was gentle, if a little clumsy, and while he was cleaning it up – which stung like   
anything – he distracted me with the story of the first time he was ever injured, fighting   
the White Witch. I knew the story well, of course, but was different the way he told it.   
It didn't sound half as noble. In fact, it sounded cold, and muddy, and confused, and   
painful – not noble at all, really.   
  
'I really did think I was a goner, and I don't mind telling you, I wasn't half scared,' he   
admitted cheerfully, and I managed to smile at him, wondering all the time if perhaps – just  
maybe – my story, as painful and miserable as it seems now, might one day come out like   
another heroic legend.   
  
'Well, that seems to be done,' Edmund said eventually. 'You look a little less pale now,   
at any rate,' he said. From anyone else, I might have taken that as a slight, but not from   
him.   
  
'Are you done, Ed?' Peter called. 'There are some aspects of Miraz' strategy that I need   
to discuss with Caspian.'  
  
'Yeah, we're done here,' Edmund said. He didn't tell Peter to go easy on me, because it   
would have been insulting, but I could tell he was thinking it. Fortunately, it didn't   
matter either way, because Trumpkin intervened of his own accord.  
  
'Now,' he said with a half stern, half amused glance at Peter. 'Before everything else we   
want breakfast.'  
  
I think it was only then that Peter realised quite how long it had been since he'd last   
eaten, because he frowned slightly, and then almost laughed, and then he looked relieved,   
and nodded at Trumpkin.  
  
'But not in here,' he said wearily.   
  
I wholeheartedly agreed with him.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 


	2. Chapter Two

Rating: PG for slashyness  
  
Diclaimer: Narnia and all characters belong to CS Lewis. I'm just borrowing them. I've also   
borrowed on or two lines of dialogue to tie this in to the frame of Prince Caspian.  
No disrespect is meant by this. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  
  
A/N: This will become slashy. Very, very gently slashy, but it will focus on m/m romantic   
relationships.   
  
I wrote this in response to a request from my very dear friend AngelHair, and it's dedicated   
to her.  
  
Chapter Two from Edmund's point of view  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
I honestly thought that Peter was going to die, fighting Miraz. And I have to say, it was   
jolly close to the worst moment of my entire life. Everything went sort of slow, and I   
could see Peter awfully, horribly clearly – every hair out of place, every bead of sweat   
on his forehead, every spot of blood on his armour, every muscle shaking with fatigue and   
pain. Every desperate, almost apologetic glance towards myself and Caspian.  
  
I couldn't hear him. The roar of the crowd was too loud. But it felt almost like I could   
read his mind. He was praying, silently, to Aslan, even as his sword was searching for an   
opening in Miraz' armour and his feet were desperately searching for a patch of ground not   
yet slippery with blood, he was praying. But not for his own safety. For Caspian's. And   
for Narnia's.   
  
And for mine.   
  
I knew this. I could see it in his eyes. Mixed in with the fear, and the pain, and the   
anger, and the almost terrifying look of cold calculation that he sometimes gets when   
fighting… mixed in with all that, there was a burning anxiety for our safety. My safety.  
  
And beyond that, beyond all those petty things, there was courage, and honour, and nobleness  
and compassion, and there was faith, still, faith in Aslan, in his power to save us if not  
himself.   
  
And somewhere beyond *that*, deeper still, almost hidden, was the certainty that he was   
going to die.  
  
He knew it. I knew it. We could both hope. But Miraz was taller, and stronger, and older,   
and his sword was heavier, and what was more, he was prepared to fight dirty – to strike   
when Peter was down and vulnerable, when his back was turned, when his honour should have   
stayed his hand. I knew that. Peter knew it too. Perhaps a lesser man might have stooped   
to his level, but not Peter. Peter fought the only way he knew how. Bravely. Calmly. Nobly.  
  
To the death, if necessary.  
  
He must have seemed so confident to the others. To Trumpkin, and Cornelius, and   
Trufflehunter, and even to Caspian. In fact, *especially* to Caspian, it was Caspian's   
confidence in him that was so important. But when I could speak to him alone, I asked   
him – man to man, king to king, brother to brother – what he thought his real chances   
were. I didn't quite know how to say it, though. I mean, I needed him to know that I had   
absolute confidence in him, but… but that I didn't just *expect* him   
  
to be able to win this fight hands down with no trouble. To everyone else, he was Peter   
the High King, their saviour from times of old, and so of course they expected him to win.   
But me – I'm his brother. I look up to him, and respect him – but I know he's fallible.  
  
'I say,' I said eventually, awkwardly. 'I suppose it is all right. I mean, I suppose you   
*can* beat him?'   
  
'That's what I'm fighting him to find out,' Peter said, tensely, honestly. It was as close  
as he would ever come to an admission of fear.  
  
And it was enough to terrify me.  
  
I felt sick watching him. There were moments when I could breath easy, and I dared hope…   
but then there were longer moments when I could hardly bear to watch and yet did not dare   
to tear my eyes away. When Miraz' shield came ramming down onto his arm I might almost   
have… well, to tell the truth, I don't know what I'd have done if it hadn't been for   
Caspian's sudden hand on my arm. I looked up at him. He looked as pale and shaken as I was   
feeling. I suppose in a way it was worse for him. He'd never seen armed combat like this   
before, and though Peter is my brother, it was Caspian's crown he was fighting for.   
  
'You've seen more battles than I,' Caspian said softly. 'Is there any chance now?'  
  
I shrugged, trying to keep numb. 'Precious little,' I said dully. 'I suppose he might *just*  
do it. With luck.'  
  
'Oh why did we let it happen at all?' Caspian said miserably.   
  
I wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that Peter would not want him to feel guilty,  
that if he could set Narnia's rightful king on his throne, he wouldn't feel he'd died in   
vain… but I didn't trust my voice to hold steady. Instead, I forced myself to smile   
encouragingly at him – and a very pale, weak smile it must have been – and he forced   
himself to smile back.   
  
After some time – time had lost all meaning by then – the fight broke for a moment, and   
Caspian gripped my shoulder briefly and then pushed me towards the lists where Peter was   
just emerging. And I flung an arm around him and he leaned against my shoulder breathing   
in great, sobbing gasps but trying to keep upright and smiling for the sake of neither   
cheering Miraz' soldiers nor alarming our own. And I was playing at doctor for the second   
time that day, tying his arm up tightly, all the while trying to keep the fear out of my   
eyes for fear of distressing Peter further. The funny thing is, I'm sure he was doing the   
same for me, so there we both stood with our false confidence and our false smiles, and   
Peter's harsh breathing filling the entire world, and I gripped his arm, wanting to say   
something, anything, but not knowing how.   
  
'Give my love to – to everyone at home, Ed, if he gets me,' he said eventually, in a   
hollow, brittle voice. 'So long, old chap.'   
  
And that was it. He slipped back into the lists and out of my reach, and my throat closed   
and I felt sick to my stomach, and it was all I could do to walk back to Caspian and the   
others on weak and shaking knees.  
  
As soon as I was standing beside him, Caspian gripped my arm again, subtly, unobtrusively,   
so that none of the others noticed. It steadied me a little, and I was horribly grateful,   
although I'd never have admitted it. I swallowed hard and looked up at him. He wasn't   
looking at me, his eyes were on the fight, but he must have caught me glancing up at him,   
because he squeezed my arm.   
  
We were, in some way that I didn't even begin to understand, drawing courage off each   
other. He was beginning to look a little less pale and afraid. I felt steadier and   
calmer, although the dread was not dulled.  
  
And then Peter went down.  
  
I could not keep from crying out as he fell to his knees. Caspian gripped my hand so   
tightly that both our knuckles were white, whether to reassure himself or me I could not   
quite tell.   
  
Miraz was on to Peter straight away, as I'd known he would be – an enemy without mercy and   
without honour is a terrible enemy indeed. He raised his sword high, and Peter did not even   
flinch, and I could not look away.   
  
And then there was a moment's confusion, and suddenly everything was all right. Peter was   
on his feet, and we were all yelling out in astonishment and relief, praising his skill   
and agility and bravery, and thanking our lucky stars for his good fortune.   
  
In the commotion, Caspian touched the side of my face. I'd bitten my lip until the blood ran  
down my cheek – he wiped the blood away with gentle fingers, smiling slightly, though his   
eyes shone with concern.   
  
The shock of his touch was almost great enough to make me stagger. The concern in his eyes   
deepened as I shook his hand away.   
  
I didn't know what to say. He stared at me intently, and I had to look away. Thankfully,   
the combat was heating up again, and I had an excuse not to meet his eyes.  
  
His fingertips brushed against mine, and I almost jumped. For a moment, I thought about   
shaking my hand free again. But then, without really knowing why, I touched the back of   
his hand and laced my fingers through his. He shifted his grasp slightly until we were   
holding hands once more.   
  
And then – in a shock of relief and joy – Miraz was down. Peter stepped aside to let him   
find his feet. For some reason, anger rose within me and I swore.  
  
'Need he be as gentlemanly as all that?' I muttered, to myself, really. Caspian tightened   
his grip on my hand, almost in warning, and I softened my tone. 'I suppose he must,' I   
admitted. 'Comes of being a Knight *and* a High King. I suppose it is what Aslan would   
like…'   
  
I realised I was babbling. I risked a glance at Caspian, and he was staring down at me   
intently. I think he might have tried to say something then – all attention was on Peter –   
only at that moment, a shout of treachery went up from the lists, and everything was   
chaos. Caspian's hand was ripped from mine, and we were both forced to draw our swords and   
fight.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 


	3. Chapter Three

Rating: PG for slashyness  
  
Diclaimer: Narnia and all characters belong to CS Lewis. I'm just borrowing them. I've also   
borrowed on or two lines of dialogue to tie this in to the frame of Prince Caspian.  
No disrespect is meant by this. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  
  
A/N: This will become slashy. Very, very gently slashy, but it will focus on m/m romantic   
relationships.   
  
I wrote this in response to a request from my very dear friend AngelHair, and it's dedicated   
to her.  
  
Chapter Three is very short and has no POV  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The battle was won, the day ended in victory. When the feasting was over and the time came   
for sleep, Edmund found that he could not get comfortable, and he shifted and turned   
restlessly. Although he tried his best not to disturb the others, and Caspian quickly   
drifted off to sleep, Peter, who was lying closest to him, found himself unable to get any   
rest at all.   
  
'Edmund, whatever is the matter?' he asked eventually, a trifle irritated, for he was   
exhausted from combat and longed for sleep. Edmund sighed and sat up.  
  
'I – I don't quite know,' he said quietly. 'That Caspian has left me feeling frightfully   
odd,' he admitted, talking very fast and trying not to meet Peter's eyes.  
  
'What do you mean, Edmund?' Peter said.  
  
'I don't rightly know,' Edmund said. 'But – but I don't feel much like sleeping. In fact,   
I feel almost as though I'll never sleep again. Like everything has changed…' Edmund broke   
off with a sigh, realising that Peter couldn't understand what he was trying to say.  
  
'Why do talk sense, Edmund!' Peter said, sounding a little exasperated, but then something   
in Edmund's face made him soften his tone. The younger boy was pale, and his eyes were a   
little wild. 'I say, Ed, are you not quite well?' Peter asked, quite kindly, although he   
was now a bit worried. The look on Edmund's face and his slightly strange behaviour   
reminded Peter uncomfortably of the way he had been during their very first adventure   
in Narnia, when he had been under some kind of wicked enchantment.   
  
Edmund looked up. 'Perhaps that is it,' he said, and suddenly his shoulders slumped and he   
looked altogether less wild and more miserable.   
  
Peter was quietly relieved, although all he said was: 'Are you all right, Ed? Do you think   
I should wake up Lucy?'  
  
'No, it's probably nothing. I shouldn't think it's worth bothering her.'   
  
'Well in that case, lie still and try and get some sleep, there's a good chap.'  
  
Edmund sighed again, and lay back down, and although he was no more comfortable than he   
had been before, and no more inclined to sleep, either, he had the courtesy to lie still   
and let Peter get some rest.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 


	4. Chapter Four

Rating: PG for slashyness  
  
Diclaimer: Narnia and all characters belong to CS Lewis. I'm just borrowing them. I've also   
borrowed on or two lines of dialogue to tie this in to the frame of Prince Caspian.  
No disrespect is meant by this. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  
  
A/N: This will become slashy. Very, very gently slashy, but it will focus on m/m romantic   
relationships.   
  
I wrote this in response to a request from my very dear friend AngelHair, and it's dedicated   
to her.  
  
Chapter Four Caspian POV  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
It was such a jolt seeing Edmund in the clothes of his own land again, just before he left.  
He looked a boy again, no more the warrior, the hero, the king. Perhaps you might have   
thought that the change would have been more noticeable in Peter, but you would have been   
wrong. Peter looked a king still even in the dingy, grey, ill-fitting clothes.   
  
Edmund looked little more than a lost child. Crumpled, and fed up, and uncomfortable and   
horribly miserable. In Narnia, in his own time, they called him Edmund the Wise. But now,   
he looked a reluctant scholar. Though his clothing had been cleaned and repaired of all   
the wear it had suffered in Narnia, I noticed that his had a little splattering of ink   
around the right cuff.   
  
He looked up and met my eyes, just once. But they were not empty, as I had feared they   
might be. Instead they shone with something that might have been regret.   
  
He forced a smile. That stretched, hopeless smile was such a characteristic expression of   
his, one I had come to know so well in the short time I had known him. His true smile, I   
had only seen once or twice. It was a slow, quiet smile, dignified but joyful, and it made   
my heart leap and my face flush.   
  
And now, even as I forced a smile back, I feared I would never see it again.   
  
Was I imagining the hint of unshed tears glistening in his eyes? Perhaps not. I certainly   
wasn't imagining the stinging behind my own eyelids.  
  
I wanted him to stay. It was as simple as that. I didn't want to lose his friendship, or   
his quiet confidence, or that smile, or those eyes.   
  
And I didn't want to let him go without…  
  
… without what?   
  
'You are troubled, son of Adam,' a soft, heavy voice murmured in my ear. 'And yet your   
battle has been won and your kingdom restored.'   
  
I felt his breath hot on my neck, and didn't dare turn around.   
  
'What is it you desire, King Caspian?'   
  
I swallowed hard. It felt like a test. I forced all thoughts of Edmund from my mind, and   
tried to give the best answer I could.'  
  
'Peace and prosperity for my kingdom. The strength and wisdom to be a good King. Loyal   
advisers, faithful servants, loving subjects.' It was the only answer I could have given.   
But more than that, it was the truth.  
  
A purr that might have almost been a growl. And then a long silence.  
  
'You have answered selflessly, my child,' the Lion said eventually. 'Turn now. Look into   
my eyes. Do not be afraid of what you see.'   
  
I had to take my courage in both hands just to turn and face him. And I looked into his   
eyes.  
  
And reflected in them, in many shades of gold, were twin reflections of Edmund, standing   
forlornly in the Gateway between our worlds, staring directly back at me.   
  
I choked back a cry, and spun to look at him. Our eyes met, and for a moment, I still did   
not understand.   
  
Then, unexpectedly, as though he had seen something in my face that made him truly joyful,   
he smiled a true smile.   
  
And something within my heart gave way.   
  
Suddenly, I was weak-kneed with the shock of understanding. It was not friendship I feared   
to lose, not comradeship, or brotherhood, but love, pure and simple and painful and   
beautiful.   
  
Whatever it was that I had seen in his eyes he had also seen in mine, for in that instant,   
he knew it too, and I knew that he knew, and we stared and stared as though seeing each   
other for the first time.   
  
'Go bid your liege goodbye, King Caspian,' Aslan whispered. For a moment I remained frozen,   
and then I crossed the clearing and stood before the Gateway. I bowed to Peter, a little   
stiffly, but then he smiled at me, and we embraced as brothers. And Queen Lucy I also   
embraced, and I kissed Queen Susan's hand.  
  
And then Edmund was standing before me. I was overwhelmed. I loved him, and I was still   
going to lose him, and perhaps never see him again.   
  
And I had no words.  
  
It was the same for him, I could tell. We clasped hands in silence.  
  
Perhaps three times, I have seen him truly smile. Perhaps three times, our hands have   
touched.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 


	5. Chapter Five

Rating: PG for slashyness  
  
Diclaimer: Narnia and all characters belong to CS Lewis. I'm just borrowing them. I've also   
borrowed on or two lines of dialogue to tie this in to the frame of Prince Caspian.  
No disrespect is meant by this. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  
  
A/N: This will become slashy. Very, very gently slashy, but it will focus on m/m romantic   
relationships.   
  
I wrote this in response to a request from my very dear friend AngelHair, and it's dedicated   
to her.  
  
Chapter Five - no POV  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
'I say, Lucy,' Edmund said, and then hesitated slightly. It was a grey and dreary morning at   
the beginning of the Christmas hols, some months after the children had returned from their   
adventure in Narnia, but the first chance that they had really had to be together, and   
Edmund had taken his sister aside in a very conspiratorial manner and begged her to talk   
with him alone for a moment.   
  
'Spit it out, Ed,' Lucy said kindly. Edmund drew a deep breath and began talking very   
quickly.  
  
'It's just that you know how sometimes you've said something or done something that at the   
time everyone else said was wrong, but you knew in your heart that there was nothing wrong   
with it at all, and in fact it was the only thing to do? I know that happens to you,   
sometimes, and – and I know that there have been times when I've argued with you about   
things like that, but I know now that it was a stupid, selfish thing to do, and last time   
I did try to make the others see things your way when only you could see what Aslan meant   
for us to do –'  
  
'You did, Ed, and it was very decent of you,' Lucy said encouragingly, for Edmund beginning   
to sound a little defensive, and now that her curiosity had been awakened by his   
secretiveness, she did so want him to confide in her. Edmund looked a little relieved at her  
words, but he quickly went back to looking nervous.  
  
'Well you see, the thing is, Lu, I'm going to tell you one of those things now.' Lucy   
suddenly went very quiet and looked at her brother very hard. She had been excited and   
proud that it was she and not Peter with whom Edmund had chosen to share his secret, but   
now she began to get the feeling that it was quite serious. Edmund looked at her solemnly.   
'I'm going to tell you something that I think most people would think is wrong, but I'm   
not so sure it is anymore,' he continued. 'And I don't know what you'll say or if you'll   
ever be able to think of me the same way again, but I feel I have to tell somebody or I'll   
just burst!'   
  
'Why whatever is it, Ed? Have you done something – something that might be wrong? Oh,   
Edmund, you're not in any trouble are you?' Lucy cried out.  
  
'Oh no, Lu! Nothing like that. I – I haven't done anything stupid. I didn't even say   
anything to him. And – and he didn't say anything either. But I think he knew.'  
  
'I don't understand, Ed,' Lucy said. 'You think who knew what?' Edmund closed his eyes.  
  
'Caspian,' he said eventually. 'I think that Caspian knew – knows – realised how much I…'   
He couldn't go on. Lucy's eyes widened and she stared at her brother in shock.   
  
'Oh Edmund! You mean you…?'   
  
'I love him,' Edmund said in a voice that was almost a whisper. 'I think I love him.'   
  
'But Edmund, he's a boy!' Lucy caught herself almost saying, but she stopped herself,   
realising that it was a thoroughly *stupid* thing to say. Suddenly, she found herself   
remembering the occasional, secretive, scornful comments her brothers would make to each   
other when they thought the girls could not hear about how a certain master was too fond   
of a certain boy, or how a prefect had been caught being intimate with another student.   
And then they would snigger together, and if she asked questions would blush, and tell her   
to cover her ears and pretend that she had not heard. For the boys attended an old-fashioned   
public school, and while homosexuality was not rife, and certainly was not accepted or   
acceptable, neither was it completely unheard of. Now that she was thinking about it,   
Lucy seemed to remember that at her own boarding school, a pair of girls a little older   
than she was had been sent home in disgrace for doing something that was not fit to be   
discussed in polite company, and amongst the whisperings that had followed, one comment   
suddenly stood out in her mind.  
  
'It's disgusting and perverted. They even claimed to be in love!'  
  
Lucy thought hard about this, and realised two things. Firstly, that Edmund was right, and   
the majority of people would think that there was something deeply wrong with what he had   
admitted to her. But secondly, that it was possible for a person to be in love with someone   
of the same sex, or at least to *think* that they were in love. Lucy suddenly wondered how a   
person could *tell* when they were truly in love. In stories, the prince would look into   
the princess' eyes, and they would both just *know*. Sometimes there were tests, but somehow   
Lucy didn't think that a glass slipper or silver rose would be of any help to Edmund. She   
wondered if he really could be in love with Caspian, or if he had just made some horrible   
mistake. Then he rubbed his eyes hard, as if to make sure he wasn't crying, glanced up at   
her, and then looked away, and she realised that he could not be mistaken. Love shone in   
his eyes as clearly as it ever did in the eyes of those fairytale princes and princesses in  
the stories.   
  
Edmund stared at the floor. He was getting more and more worried as Lucy's silence   
lengthened.   
  
'Oh Lu! Do you think it can be so very wrong?' he burst out suddenly.   
  
Lucy didn't answer straight away. She thought about the two girls sent home in disgrace, and  
the words that people had used: unnatural, perverted, queer. And she thought about Caspian's  
laughing, kindly, noble face, and the way he had gripped Edmund's arm in silence just as   
they were about to leave Narnia.  
  
'You know, Ed, I – I don't think it can be,' she said eventually. Edmund stared at her in   
relief.  
  
'Really?' he said.  
  
'Well you see,' Lucy said thoughtfully. 'Aslan told Peter and Susan that they can't come   
back to Narnia anymore – if he'd been angry with you, or if he'd never wanted you to see   
Caspian again, he could always have said the same to you. And besides that, it was Aslan   
himself that made it so that you would meet Caspian. And he must have known that if you   
were to meet him, you would fall in love with him; after all, he does know everything.   
And – and I don't think he would have let it happen if he hadn't *meant* for it to happen.   
And if Aslan meant for it to happen, then how could it possibly be wrong?   
  
Edmund looked as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  
  
'You know, Lucy, I do believe you might be right,' he said softly. Lucy smiled.   
  
'I knew that there were boys who – you know – felt like that about other boys,' Edmund   
said after a moment. 'There're some at school, although nobody really talks about it much.'  
Lucy nodded. 'But they're mostly the pale-faced, girlish type who are no good at games and   
spend their first night back blubbing for mother. I never thought I could possibly have   
anything in common with them,' Edmund laughed.  
  
'I feel sorry them.' Lucy said. 'Being treated like they aren't proper men, and being   
called all those hateful names. *You* might find yourself acting like a girl if that was the   
way you were treated all the time, especially if you'd never had the chance to go on   
adventures or be king of Narnia.'  
  
'I suppose I might at that, though it is an odd thought,' Edmund said with a smile.   
'But I don't think I ever could now, not when I've got you around to say sensible things   
and make me feel like it's perfectly all right.' He looked at Lucy gratefully, and she   
smiled back. 'I did *know* there was nothing wrong with it really,' he said. 'It *felt* right,   
if you understand what I'm saying. I was just afraid that no one else would ever be able   
to see it that way.' He clapped Lucy on the back. 'But I knew if anyone could, it would be   
you. You really are a brick!'  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 


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